


Light, Measured By Who Holds the Glass

by LittleRaven



Category: To Aru Hikushi e no Tsuiko | The Princess and the Pilot
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:26:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1570862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/pseuds/LittleRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fana remembers what it is to want things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light, Measured By Who Holds the Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Swords_and_Parasols](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swords_and_Parasols/gifts).



> The title was taken from that of "Fire, Measured By What Doesn't Burn" by Luna, posted during Yuletide 2009. It's stayed clear in my mind and I always wanted to incorporate it somewhere. Hopefully one day I'll come up with a phrase as good as that.

Charles leaves for good--when his gold dusts the sea and the ship and the people on the ship, she doesn't feel guilt at all: he knew what he was letting go. She understands it in the way she had moved the officers out of her path to pay her respects with a smile.

           

Fana can move them again. Knowing that lets her steps be light for a time, and steady. She doesn't need to return to the cockpit.

 

 

           

She is still frightened of the palace walls, the one danger she had never faced over the sea. And so that was likely the reason. Chiusse is there again, but so is Charles. At least it wasn't her fault this time. Fana breathes regularly; the last time Carlo had woken and he'd wanted her to sing it again. She'd wanted to stare him down, she'd wanted to bolt like she was still in the sky, though even then she hadn't been directing the ride. Instead she pretended she couldn't remember; she must have been doing it in her sleep. She lets him gush his guts out until he remembers his tiredness and makes it her own. Sometimes Fana slips into her old casing again. Sometimes it is useful. She thinks of Carlo's openness, his lack when it came to seeing secrets and their necessity. She had learned what it meant to depend on them, and she is still applying that lesson. Fana knows an empress has her own life to run with her own people. She would be as invisible as Charles when they spoke again.

 

 

           

Chiusse lingers and Fana doesn't know what to do with that. Her hair is being brushed and she had never asked about the grave, which she would surely never be able to visit. She can't imagine that.    

          

"My lady?"

           

Her features had sharpened at the thought. She can see it now in the mirror. Fana smiles and says, "Continue."

 

            The maid obeys immediately, brushing a little more jerkily for a moment.

 

Wait, Fana thinks, I can make her do that. It isn't even dangerous to the maid when it's the job. But she must learn her name. She doesn't know whether to ask, or how. Should she wait? Fana remembers the only time a servant got too close; she wonders how much worse things would be if it was the servant of the imperial princess.

 

            "My lady?" This time the question is more tentative. Poor maid, she can't intrude on Fana, but she can't have anything happen to her. That could end up really bad-

 

           She feels a hand on the side of her face.

 

            "I have brushed too hard, I'm so sorry."

 

            Fana realizes she has jumped in her seat a little. The maid has put down the brush and is repeating her apologies with alarmed concern, about to call for help but watching to see if Fana needs to be kept from collapsing.

 

            "No, you've done well. I couldn't feel it at all. I was thinking of other things."

She speaks firmly but calmly, gently. It's not the same situation as with the officers who had brought her here. There's no need to make this girl feel her will.

 

            The result is more apologies, this time for presuming, for hysteria. Fana wants to sigh. Perhaps she will have to put a little pressure on her. And learn how to deal with her.

 

            "What's your name?"

 

            The question works as intended: Livia is startled away from her worries as she answers.

 

            "Livia, I don't mind if you ask me things when I seem to be acting strangely. I could very well have been ill."

 

            Of course Livia nods along, but she needs more convincing. Fana continues in the same tone. "It's really all up to your judgment. You have to decide for yourself if I might need help. As long as you keep asking first," she finishes with a smile.

 

            It doesn't entirely work, but Livia accepts her words anyway. "Thank you my lady, I will remember."

 

            Well, that will do. To end the situation--or to continue it, because this will happen again and again, and all she can do is make that be smooth--Fana tells Livia she may resume brushing her hair. "And I'll resume my thinking as you do it. You're only helping that."

 

            Charles is still there also. It had been a good idea to find him again, but nothing has made that change into a plan. Before it was easy; all she'd needed to do was tell some officers to let her move freely. This time no one knows her secret. No one besides her prince, whom she isn't sure would interpret things correctly. Or Fana isn't sure that he wouldn't, not that it mattered. She thinks of his goodbye, and wonders how much of his gold it had cost him. He could have had enough still, perhaps, to make his life his own. He could have gone back to nothing. No, he'd have his job. She is certain they wouldn't take that away from him, even if he remained a lesser being in their eyes. Otherwise he wouldn't have had it in the first place, and it wasn't as if they'd refused to give the pay they'd promised, either. But he hadn't liked that job.

 

 

 

            Fana sits in a garden of lilies all white, feigning interest in them as she thinks. The flowers complement her beauty, though all insist they look quite poorly in her presence. She catches herself thinking this, remembers deciding it would make a good cover; she also decides her interest isn't entirely feigned. Fana may have grown used to flowers, accesories, and accentuations, but she had never before used them. She smiles more brightly. Yes, this makes them almost as lovely as clouds.

 

            She doesn't need to find him herself yet, not when he isn't even allowed to exist. Trying would only make him visible. Her too, in the worst way. Fana would simply have to keep him safe before doing that. She would have to honor him for his work and protect him from the consequences of his station, one Fana knows no one deserved, if only from watching him be hit just for being near her. It would mean changing that station. She lifts her head.    

           


End file.
